


how mildly does the sun shine

by philthestone



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: F/M, but we're going to bypass enemies and start right at anne of avonlea, lm montgomery was like just gonna mess around and invent enemies to friends to lovers, maya this ones for u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26801956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: In the end, it does not happen like the imaginings of her girlhood — the long, sweepingly romantic kiss wherein the intrepid heroine is dipped backwards by her dark-and-handsome beau, eyes filled with yearning romance, the stars and poets of old seemingly come alive to play rapturous epic backdrop to the embrace.Her new husband is handsome, and brown-cheeked and dark-haired. But when given the permission to kiss his bride, his eyes are filled with a tender, mirthful joy – and Anne can only contain her excitement for two heartbeats of the kiss before pulling away and flinging her arms around Gilbert’s neck, in the delighted hug of two long-lost friends, reunited at last.Anne and Gilbert, ambling hand in hand towards eternal companionship.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 22
Kudos: 70





	how mildly does the sun shine

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a series of 3-sentence prompts on tumblr. dedicated to maya, who loves anne as much as i do
> 
> the title, and all the subheadings, are from a poem by wordsworth -- which i shall copy in its entirety at the end. reviews fill my heart with joy; stay safe my friends <3

**i. how mildly does the sun shine**

He has to duck to avoid the low ridge of the doorway. It’s still-present, if resembling the rather forlorn ruins of any old fort – _Arthurian_ , he would say, if he had to choose -- and enduring the sweet evolution from childhood fantasy to girlhood dreams. 

She turns to face him, skirts now long enough to brush against her ankles, a toothy grin in place.

“I can’t say we didn’t used to be foolish,” Anne declares, slender neck flushed with the nervous delight of sharing a cherished secret, however long-past, with a new, equally-cherished friend, “but _oh_ , couldn’t this be such a romantical sort of place? Even now – but for us girls, it was just about another land altogether.”

Gilbert is almost comically too-tall for the whimsical remnants of the dear old Story Club hideaway. He looks at her, and feels something inarticulable pang and bloom, deep in his young man’s heart.

“I think it’s beautiful, Anne,” he says, and her responding grin is more than enough reward for the awkward ache in his hunched-over shoulders.

**ii. be calm as water**

It has been an all-around unremarkable morning. Anne is inside the kitchen looking out, wondering if things mightn’t be made more exciting if she starts telling Marilla about the inevitable thunder-storming that will follow Avonlea’s uncharacteristic July heatwave. Diana will not be coming ‘til well past noon, for the purpose of brainstorming A.V.I.S.’s next potential barn-painting endeavor, and Anne’s current company is not the sort to appreciate the romantic potential of rain: at the kitchen counter Mrs. Lynde is midway through instructing Dora in the art of pie crusts, and Marilla is judiciously inspecting the dough-related developments and wondering vaguely whether Davy mustn’t be in the front yard, probably terrorizing the chickens. 

Rachel says,

“Well, if it isn’t that Blythe boy coming up the lane. You and he sure have been spending some time together, Anne.” 

Anne does not reply, distracted; Marilla (with one shrewd eye kept carefully on her girl) has opened the door to the sight of a grinning, sunkissed Gilbert Blythe, midway through swinging a muddied Davy over his shoulder amidst a riot of delighted little-boy giggles. 

**iii. such happy hours together**

Her hands are nimble and soft as she grabs his, a gesture between friends.

“Anne -- _Anne_ \-- I _know_ how to mend my shirts, thank you --”

“And that’s very sensible of you, Gilbert, but you shall be going off on your own into the _world_ \--”

“The _world_ ,” he says, all laughter, for isn’t she coming too -- could he be going if she wasn’t --?

“-- and I am of the opinion that any truly capable independent must know how to embroider, awfully tedious though it may be.”

She’s glowing with mirth and warmth and teasing comradery, and holds aloft the stitching before his face. He mourns the loss of her hands on his, but says,

“You should know I’ll likely excel,” with solemnity. The not-yet-autumn air sparkles with its goldish sunshine. It’s afternoon, and they’re among the apple trees in the Blythes’ orchard, and Anne’s hair looks especially fiery today, matching the apples, and her unwittingly pink cheeks. Redmond starts in only weeks; they are floating in excitement and anticipation and new unknowns.

“Yes, but teaching you shall be _worth_ it,” Anne says, heedless of the sentiment belied, and Gilbert agrees, so that she might perhaps take his hands again.

**iv. see thee sink into a dream**

She’s not sure whether she is more or less comfortable in trousers, and were she any less excited she may have spent the evening waging debate with herself upon the subject. But she _is_ \-- excited, that is.

She stands on the very tips of her toes, craning her neck to see above the crowd. Professor Daniels’ lecture starts in but a moment, and Anne is so elated that even the plentitude of raucous young men in her periphery is not off-putting.

Still, she is suddenly of the mind to ask, “Do you think Mrs. Lynde will be _very_ scandalized when she learns Marilla’s sewing lessons have culminated in me moonlighting as a boy?” blithely, because the occasion calls for it.

“Mrs. Lynde won’t be hearing about this until she is well into the world after this one, Anne, or it’ll be _my_ head,” says Gilbert. He’s leaning easily beside her against the back wall, secretive as their sojourn into the Redmond boys’-only dorm hall is. But his hand has been hovering someplace by her elbow all evening.

Anne would be annoyed about it if it didn’t make her feel so queerly secure.

She tugs down at the hem of Gilbert’s gallantly-donated vest, which is donned above his gallantly-donated shirt, and Phil called her tailoring job _supreme_ , but the clothes still manage to be too-large around her shoulders and sleeves. It’s a detail that has her noticing Gilbert’s height, like she hasn’t really thought to before.

“You didn’t have to, you know,” Anne says, though perhaps that’s meaningless now.

“Come on, Anne-girl,” and the dampened thrill of her excitement returns, alongside a nervous flush, “of course I did. That’s what friends are for.” 

Then Daniels starts, and the evening is filled with analyses of Wordsworth. If Anne leans into Gil’s easy posture, she does not notice it.

**v. so sweet a resting place**

“Do you know,” Anne says, in Hester Gray’s garden, after it all. Gilbert’s eyes are shining in the dappled light of early spring, greenish-gold as the foliage around them. “It occurred to me, a few years ago, that romance might walk into one’s life like an old friend.” 

“It occurred to me, too,” he says. He’s grinning. _What a little fool I was_ , Anne wants to say. But Gilbert seems to understand, and adds, “Want to race me down Lover’s Lane?”

Behind their shrieking laughter the garden grows twighlighted, and the hours move towards another dawning morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Travelling, by William Wordsworth
> 
> This is the spot:—how mildly does the sun  
> Shine in between the fading leaves! the air  
> In the habitual silence of this wood  
> Is more than silent: and this bed of heath,  
> Where shall we find so sweet a resting-place?  
> Come!—let me see thee sink into a dream  
> Of quiet thoughts,—protracted till thine eye  
> Be calm as water when the winds are gone  
> And no one can tell whither.—my sweet friend!  
> We two have had such happy hours together  
> That my heart melts in me to think of it.


End file.
